


Where Love Blooms

by Nisaki



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love, Shizuo is an idiot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki
Summary: He can't blame whoever is on the other side for not loving him back, the blond monster of Ikebukuro, the lonely bartender, the violent debt collector and not one name fit to be loved under.  He smells the blood, and a faint flowery fragrance and his chest burns and his lungs scream and in the agony of his next breath, his bones call for something beyond his ability to decipher.He wants to see Izaya.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Comments: 24
Kudos: 226





	Where Love Blooms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomnolentBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomnolentBunny/gifts).



> I wrote shizaya, wtf. I know I wrote just a taste last year, or something? But this one I actually sat down and plotted and stuff and...  
> Every time I write Shizaya I feel like someone will smack me and go "the fuck are you doing here?"  
> Any way, here it is.

Izaya's moans echo off the walls as Shizuo presses him harder to the bed and fucks him in a fast pace.

The bed creaks under them, Izaya's third bed this month, and it's not that Izaya complains about Shizuo's habit of breaking things, but the provocative smile on his lips when he announces he's ordered another bed and the way it always sounds like an invitation has Shizuo's blood boiling in ways that only Izaya can achieve.

He grips harder, pulls Izaya's ass up and slows down, not because he's concerned about the bed, but because he loves watching this. His cock sinking into Izaya's body, forcing him open, the way his rim widens when Shizuo rams in and how it clings when he slides back. Push and pull, it entrances him the same way Izaya's hips fit into his hands does, has the same hypnotizing effect on him as the contrast of their colours, his tanned fingers against the almost sickly pale of Izaya's complexion.

Izaya bruises easily, and Shizuo has hated it so much, like he's hated everything about Izaya but it also satisfies a part of him. The part that breaks noses over unassigned seats and writes MINE on pudding. So he tightens his hands and fucks harder. Izaya moans, his arms give out and he falls down, grips the sheet, his cheek slides over the bed with every shove of Shizuo's hips. Hard, punctuated thrusts like the beats of a very deliberate drum, accompanying Izaya's breathy calls of his name.

This is the only place where he gets to hear Izaya say his name, his actual name and not that infuriating nickname that he utters with mock affection.

"Ah, Shizuo!"

He moans loudly and the bed answers him with a squeak, Shizuo moves his hands up until his fingers slot between Izaya's ribs and he holds and lifts him up, Izaya's back flush to his chest. He ends up with his legs spread over Shizuo's thighs, his head on Shizuo's shoulder and he's like a rag doll, Shizuo bounces him up and fucks into him and he takes it and whimpers but never asks for slower so Shizuo goes faster and harder.

Something builds in his chest, he's panting, feeling the exertion, sweating. That something in his chest climbs up and gets out as a cough, then another then another until he loses his breath and he's forced to stop, covering his mouth with his hand and coughing into it.

"Shizu-chan?" Izaya says, and he sounds dazed like he's been out of reality and only now came back. Shizuo can't answer as another fit of coughs wracks his body. Izaya clicks his tongue and lifts himself up, groaning as Shizuo's cock slips out of him. He turns around and helps Shizuo to lie down on his back. The coughs have subsided but Shizuo feels the persistent ache they've left behind expanding in his chest, and he's breathless.

Izaya reaches for the lube again, drizzles more of it on Shizuo's shaft and sits down on it. "What good are you, Shizu-chan. I have to fuck myself now." And he does, his thighs lifting him up and down, shaking but he still goes harder, clenches his walls on Shizuo's cock and Shizuo bucks up, hands flying to settle on Izaya's thighs. Izaya gets into it, throws his head back and closes his eyes. He doesn't ride Shizuo a lot because he's a princess and if Shizuo isn't good enough to fuck him then might as well buy a dildo.

Once the pain in his chest disappears, Shizuo grips harder on Izaya's thighs and fucks up, hard and fast like only Izaya can take, until they're both done. Izaya's release covers his stomach then Izaya collapses on top of him, panting and disoriented and in that moment, feeling Izaya's breaths against his neck brings him over the edge and he shoots his load into Izaya.

He lifts Izaya off of him and gets up, wipes his spent cock on the sheets and gathers his clothes. Izaya is asleep already, or passed out like he always is after they're done. Shizuo's lip curls in a snarl.

"If you can't take it don't ask for it, flea."

But Izaya doesn't give an answer and Shizuo isn't really waiting for one. He leaves.

* * *

The smoke burns, and Shizuo frowns. He takes another drag, a deeper one, keeps it in his chest for longer than he ever did. It's the same sting of iodine on a bullet wound, he dislikes it. He blows the smoke out and rubs at his chest with his hand.

The cigarette is the same type, the same taste. He drags another breath, hisses and lets it out with a forceful cough.

He throws the cigarette on the ground and stomps on it and he feels like seeing Izaya. Like everything else related to Izaya, the desire to see him gets Shizuo angry, and he growls. He's not going, he's not. He refuses to break down so soon.

Two days, it's only been two days and that's not like him.

He pulls out his pack and puts a cigarette between his lips, keeps it there long before he lights it. He accepts the burn with the nicotine and he doesn't know why he's blaming Izaya, but he is.

He only ever hurts when it's Izaya.

* * *

He says it with Izaya's wrist bones grinding under his grip and Izaya's toes curled near his ears. "My lungs burn when I smoke." Punctuates the words with a few vicious fucks.

"Good!" Izaya gasps. "I...Ah, I hate the...taste of smoke when you...ah, kiss me."

Shizuo narrows his eyes, frees one of Izaya's wrists to squeeze his jaw, he forces Izaya's head back, leans in and plunges his tongue into Izaya's mouth. Izaya moans and opens up to him, sucks his tongue and bucks his hips against Shizuo. Shizuo bites on his bottom lip and Izaya goes rigid under him, his body convulsing with his orgasm, clawing at Shizuo's back with his hands. Shizuo hurries his pace, frantically chasing the thrill that travels down his spine, then the ache in his lungs chokes him and he starts coughing.

Izaya digs his nails into the round of his shoulder. "Stop coughing on my face!" He says. Shizuo closes his eyes and tries to hold it in, still thrusting into Izaya but nowhere near as hard as any of them craves. Izaya's walls clench and unclench in a deliberate manner and Shizuo gasps and comes. Sitting back up and covering his mouth with both hands.

Izaya's piercing eyes are on him, a look that gets under Shizuo's skin. Calculating, intense, almost concerned.

"Ne, Shizu-chan. Did you finally catch a cold?"

"I don't get colds." The cough comes out immediately after that arrogant declaration and Izaya laughs.

"I think your lungs disagree, Shizu-chan." 

Shizuo huffs and moves out of the bed, completely naked and doesn't make an effort to pick his clothes up from the floor, he intends to stay and fuck Izaya until he has no more breath to laugh or be a smartass.

He places a hand on the handle of the bathroom door and glances over his shoulder. Izaya is facing him but he's asleep.

Or passed out. Shizuo never was able to tell.

The water is cold, and it shocks another coughing fit out of him, this one doesn't slow down and it bursts with pain all over his chest. He grips over his heart, presses but the pain perseveres. Something hot climbs up his throat and he coughs it out.

Blood.

He squints his eyes at the big pieces of clot, coughs again and more of them come out. Not clots, but bloody petals.

White petals. Bigger than a rose's, longer and thinner at the end. He doesn't know which flower it is, but he knows he's doomed.

He washes his face and hands, makes sure there's no trace of blood on Izaya's sink and he sneaks back into the room, gathering his clothes from the floor. Izaya flips to his back, groans, then turns his face to Shizuo.

"Already?" His voice is raspy, and Shizuo knows it can get deeper and more scratched if he would go there and shove his dick down Izaya's throat. The image makes heat stir in his gut but he has to leave.

He dresses without answering Izaya, but Izaya watches him. His gaze like a physical thing against Shizuo’s skin, grates on his nerves and makes him grit his teeth.

The air outside doesn't help with the ache in his lungs. Shizuo looks up at the dark, starless sky, allows the breeze to pass between his bleached locks and move them over his forehead.

And he thinks, who is it?

He thinks about it as he walks all the way to Ikebukuro, thinks about it as he climbs the stairs to his apartment, and thinks as he opens his windows and pulls a cigarette that can only make it worse.

Who is it?

He inhales smoke, coughs and takes another drag.  _ Who who who who. _ He knows no one, has no friends. He slept with two women, both called him a monster in the morning and he doesn't remember their faces.

He lies down on his bed, a new cigarette between his index and middle finger and he stares at the smoke as it flies up to the ceiling. He places his hand in his pocket, holds the delicate little thing between his fingers, takes a long drag of smoke and keeps it in until the burn is too much.

The white petal feels like velvet, stained with his blood on one edge.

_ It's killing me _ , he thinks.

_ It's beautiful _ .

He smiles and closes his eyes.

* * *

The restaurant is small but it's a crowded noisy place, half conversations like a purl of a stream, broken words and clicking cutlery. Once in a while, someone will remove their chair, dragging the wooden legs over the floor, grating on Shizuo's nerves. The smell suffocates him and so does the No Smoking sign on the wall opposite from him.

The waiter recognized him, because he never looked him in the eye, trembled the whole ten seconds it took for Shizuo to order.

He turns his face to the side, squints his eyes against the light. The windows are too clean, it's almost like they're not there. From across the street, a lonely man dressed in all black is looking back at him. The need for a cigarette is a thing always made worse by Izaya, but it's one thing in a long, long list of things made worse by Izaya. The tightening in his chest, familiar now, squeezes a bit more and he gasps a breath from his nose and fights the cough. 

Through the glare of the sun, and with the fact that he can't see Izaya's face they lock eyes. Something happens then, an unexpected, new thing that Ikebukuro has never witnessed before. Shizuo faces forward and doesn't give chase, instead, he waits for the few seconds it takes for Izaya to cross the street and enters the restaurant.

The chatter, and tumult and the maddening clicking and clatter all comes to a sudden hush, everything stops as Orihara Izaya sets a foot into the place. Shizuo feels the weight of every gaze in the restaurant shifting and settling onto him. He huffs an amused sound and smiles at Izaya, who continues his way like they're not breaking a law of nature. Steps sure and unhurried because Izaya owns every place he walks into and this small hole is no different. 

There's a second of oppressive hesitation when Izaya stands next to the table and eyes the benches, a minuscule move in Shizuo's direction before he retreats and slides into the bench opposite to the one Shizuo's seated on. 

It's too hot for the fur coat, but Izaya is comfortable. Sitting across the table with a rare uncertain expression. He doesn't ask for the waiter, and the waiter who looks at them from afar with bulging eyes doesn't dare step in their direction. Izaya doesn't speak, doesn't even look at Shizuo. He turns his face towards the light and that ache in Shizuo's chest reappears.

The light streams down over him, makes his pale skin glow with gold and the ends of his hair disappear into the shine. Izaya tips his head back, closes his eyes like he's bathing in the sun, his face devoid of challenge and defiance and his hair sliding down over his forehead. In that moment he seems to Shizuo like he's made of the same light penetrating the window, something above the humans he claims to love and so out of reach from a monster. A creature beyond words and definitions.

Like he's feeling Shizuo's stare, Izaya opens his eyes and glances without turning his head, a foreign smile on his lips. Small, menace-free. Genuine.

Shizuo's next breath comes easier. The waiter, after many aborted trials, finally makes his way over and takes Izaya's order. A cup of black coffee.

"As dark as your soul," Shizuo says, surprising even himself at the jesting tone. Izaya chuckles.

"As dark as my soul," he agrees.

They share no words after. Only stolen looks that are almost coy. Izaya pays the whole bill before he leaves, and not once does Shizuo think about protesting.

They walk in different directions, but something stops Shizuo and makes him look back. Izaya is still near the restaurant entrance, his head ducked and his eyes dim, like the pavement that has stolen all of his attention is a fascinating riddle worthy of Orihara Izaya's full concentration. Izaya startles, looks at him. He smiles but it's different from that serene, light bathed one, a tired one perhaps, and he waves to Shizuo, hides his spidery hands in his pockets and swirls theatrically in place then crosses the street and jumps onto a fence. He walks on it like an acrobat until he reaches a building and his next jump has him climbing up and over and out of Shizuo's relentless gaze. Behind him, he leaves a sense of loss Shizuo cannot comprehend, something that burns like cigarette smoke.

Shizuo walks back to his apartment and thinks about calling Shinra, maybe the eccentric doctor has a few theories about his disease. Shizuo has reached the conclusion that it's contagious, and he'd caught it from a miserable, in love bastard. Because someone like him can't be in love, has no one to be in love with.

A bell rings behind him and he comes to a halt. When he looks at the road he walked, he sees the sky streaked with orange and purple, and in the fading light of another boring day ending, he catches the glow of Izaya's red eyes and a once-in-lifetime genuine smile.

* * *

It's slow and painful.

His blood litters the floor of his bathroom, staining the white porcelain of his sink, mixing with pretty petals. They stick to the side of his mouth with blood, choke him as he coughs them out.

Pretty and deadly.

There's an irony in the fact that he doesn't recognize the type of petals, same as he doesn't know who he can blame for this pain.

Himself, probably. Can't blame whoever is on the other side for not loving him back, the blond monster of Ikebukuro, the lonely bartender, the violent debt collector and not one name fit to be loved under. He smells the blood, and a faint flowery fragrance and his chest burns and his lungs scream and in the agony of his next breath, his bones call for something beyond his ability to decipher.

He wants to see Izaya.

So he goes.

To someone like him, the idea of cleaning up and looking good is a ridiculous one, so he makes the walk without his black vest and with his shirt stained in blood. He coughs a whole flower half way, clutches at a wall and stares at it.

He still can't name the thing, but he was right about it being beautiful.

Izaya opens the door with an annoyed expression that turns dark at the sight of the blood.

"What's wrong with you?" he says. Shizuo stares and breathes, it hurts less with Izaya around.

He shrugs and gives the bloody flower in his hand to Izaya. Izaya's eyes widen at it then his head whips up to look at Shizuo again.

"It's killing me," Shizuo wheezes and coughs. Blood, petals, another full flower, this one falls with blood on just half a petal of it. Shizuo bends and picks it up. Izaya's eyes are shiny, his lashes are clogged.

Shizuo hates it.

He fixes the flower between Izaya's hair and his ear lobe. "Suits you," he coughs. Izaya moves to the side, opens the door and lets him in and Shizuo stumbles. He had no idea he was this tired.

He doesn't make it far, sits with his back to the wall, looks up at Izaya from the floor. Izaya's lips are pursed, his hands balled into fists by his sides and he's shaking minutely. The flower is still in his hair.

"Do you know which flower that is, Izaya?"

Izaya blinks, lifts his hand to touch at the flower he left there in his hair, he pulls it out, his face contracting into something akin to pain and deep hatred.

"Lilies," he says, and it sounds bitter. Like defeat. "They're my favourite."

Shizuo laughs and it turns to vicious coughs, gush of blood floods from his mouth and he feels like his lung itself will come out on the next cough. He clutches at his chest, and tries to stop it but it wracks him up, and more blood flows, and more petals fall.

Izaya throws the lily on the ground and stomps it with his foot. "We should take you to the hospital!" He falls to his knees, and tries to move Shizuo away from the wall. He's close enough for Shizuo to smell his hair. Coffee. Izaya always smells of coffee. 

A wave of pain takes him, another cough. He wipes at his mouth with his hand and turns it bloody.

"Get up!" Izaya shouts when he fails to move him, ends up folded between Shizuo's legs.

"You're too skinny," Shizuo says.

"Get up, we have to get you to the hospital!" There's a frantic edge to it, and Izaya starts pulling and tugging again. 

"They can't help."

"They will," Izaya vows vehemently, his eyes burning amber. It's as scary as it is beautiful. His red eyes lit with fire, scornful and determined.

Shizuo laughs. "You can threaten them, doesn't mean they can. Just," a fit of cough interrupts him, and he doubles over. Izaya looks freaked, he cups Shizuo's face with both hands, eyes darting between his.

"Who is it?"

He's so beautiful like this, in the dim light, close and honest. Shizuo shrugs.

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me!" Izaya screams. He balls his fists and pounds on Shizuo's chest. Shizuo can't even feel it, but he stops them by covering them with his hands and keeping them on his chest.

"I can cure you," he says desperately. "If you just tell me who, just a name, Shizuo. It won't be unrequited love if they're dead."

Shizuo shakes his head. "I don't know."

"Tell me!" Izaya shrieks,  _ tell me, tell me, tell me _ . He chants, almost begging. And Shizuo doesn't know and doesn't care. A calm taking over him, he's always thought he's wanted Izaya to kill him but now with Izaya cursing and promising bloody murder for the person who doesn't love Shizuo back, Shizuo discovers that he only wanted to die looking at Izaya.

"You have to tell me, Shizuo. Or I swear I'll kill everyone you met, all of them, all of them!"

Shizuo is tired, he lifts his hand up, passes his fingers through Izaya's hair and Izaya's eyes over flood, tears fall down his cheeks like raining diamonds.

"Tell me who's taking you away from me," he whispers, ducking his head. He presses his forehead to Shizuo's chest and sobs. Shizuo's bones feel like they're snapping, his heart hurts, his lungs squeeze.

Izaya is trembling, shivering. He's so small curled over Shizuo like this. Shizuo pulls him close, wraps him up in his arms for the first time and something in him shifts and clicks. He almost laughs. 

Izaya  _ will _ kill him, after all.

"You don't have to be angry," he says. "No one is killing me but you."

Izaya's hands fist in his shirt and he weeps harder. "I don't want to, you stupid protozoan. I don't want to."

Shizuo places a hand on Izaya's head, pats him like a child. He closes his eyes and thinks, there's nothing to lose.

"No, I mean, I think it's you."

Izaya freezes, then he struggles and wiggles until Shizuo lets him move back and look at him.

"Me... What?"

"You," Shizuo repeats. "I'm in love with  _ you _ ."

There's a long silence in which Shizuo thinks Izaya will stab him before he dies from unrequited love. But Izaya bursts into tears once more, childish cries and he throws his arms around Shizuo's neck and kisses him. Clumsy and harried but so sweet it gives him his life back. And he can feel it, like a type of magic from a fairytale where your love's kiss fixes everything, his lungs’ wounds closing up, healing.

Izaya breaks the kiss with hysterical laughter, then he slaps Shizuo, keeps his hand on his cheek. "Don't scare me like that again, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo doesn't hurt, can only be soothed by the chill in the tips of Izaya's fingers. He covers Izaya's hand with his own and turns his face, kisses Izaya's palm. It strangely isn't strange, like they've been doing it forever, like it fits.

"So lilies, huh?"

Izaya lifts a shoulder. "They're beautiful."

Shizuo smiles, pulls Izaya for another kiss, neither of them complains about it tasting metallic.

Next day, when Shizuo buys a bouquet of lilies and heads to Shinjuku, someone whistles and asks who's dating Heiwajima Shizuo. Shizuo is in good enough humour so he turns and answers. "It's Orihara Izaya!" With a big smile.

The man faints.

In Shinjuku, Izaya kisses him.

In Shizuo's chest, love blooms. 

-End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, feedback is very appreciated. <3


End file.
